


For When You Break

by Reidluver



Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Fix-It, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I saved Hamm, Sledge does something drastic, Snafu is bad at emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 12:51:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6116992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reidluver/pseuds/Reidluver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Sledge weren't so emotionally exhausted that fateful night in Okinawa, the shouting match between him and Snafu could have ended differently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For When You Break

“We need some reinforcements up here.” Snafu’s usual complaint grated on Sledge’s already frayed nerves.

Sledge clenched his jaw and exhaled through his nose. “Give it a rest.”

"Fuck you, Eugene."

"Yeah, fuck you too, Shelton." The name felt weird on his tongue, but if Snafu was going to play this game so would he. Sledge was so fucking sick of this goddamn war. He was fucking sick of being drenched and never dry, always caked in a slimy layer of mud. The infernal heat and lack of water in Peleliu had been unbearable in its own right, but this was just as bad if not worse. The _last_ thing he wanted to deal with was Snafu’s attitude.

Snafu dropped his head against the pole of their makeshift shelter and whimpered. “I’m so fuckin’ tired of this maggoty stench. Firs’ they order us t’push forward when we ain’t got ‘nough bodies—”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“—dey order us t’sit in our own fuckin’ shit. Dey fuckin’ shell us wif our own artillery—”

"Shut up!"

But Snafu just wouldn't stop. He kept yelling and yelling, his voice turning higher, more frantic. It was a few degrees short of hysterics and the thought froze Sledge's irritation in its tracks. He thought back to that night in Peleliu, when the marine’s nightmares nearly gave their position away. No matter what they did, he kept screaming and screaming. Only a shovel to the head stopped him; permanently.

It was a cruel necessity and Sledge had of course been disgusted by it, but now the thought terrified him. Snafu was dangling on that edge, leaning closer than Sledge had ever seen him before. If this kept up, they'd be laying a poncho over his sightless eyes in the morning.

Sledge couldn't bear to see that happen. This war had already taken more than he thought he could give. The loss of Bill was still all too fresh, and Sledge would be damned if he lost another important person to this infernal place.

But what to _do?_ Sledge's mind raced with the ferocity it did in battle. Snafu was a hair's breadth from a rabid dog. It would likely take at least three guys to hold him down, and they'd all be badly injured as a result. Sledge sure as hell wouldn't stand a chance by himself.

Shock—he had to shock him into stopping. But what could he do? What could possibly shock a guy who carved out golden teeth from corpses and tossed coral rocks into bisected skulls? Snafu would stare down the bullet that killed him and laugh. Not even death would . . .

With no time to lose, Sledge moved himself better in Snafu's line of sight and rummaged through his pockets. He took a deep breath, screamed, _"MERRIEL!"—_

—and pressed the cold metal of his father's pistol against his own temple.

\--

Sledge had forgotten what true silence was like. Ever since he left home, there had been this constant cacophony of noises that followed him wherever he went. Even the night was filled with the sound of gunfire, if only in the distance. But right now, at this moment, everything and everyone was perfectly silent. Sledge could feel the horrified gaze of everyone nearby on him, but he only had eyes for one.

The mortarman in question gawked at him; shadow-rimmed eyes impossibly wide and swelling with bafflement, horror, and pain.

"Yuh really hate me tha' much, Sledgehamma'?" he croaked. His voice cracked with such raw emotion Hamm and Peck looked away.

"This isn't because I hate you, bastard," Sledge said, the crispness of his voice amplified in the continuing silence. "Just figured it'd be pointless to waste breaking a perfectly good shovel against your hard-ass head."

. One second.

. . Two seconds.

. . . _Three._

Muffled gasps and hushed whispers rippled through the company, popping the dome of silence that had settled around them. All heads turned out of tact. Out of the corner of his eye, Sledge noticed Burgie carefully making his way toward them.

Snafu was frozen in place, horrified eyes locked in Sledge’s gaze. Sledge held the look as he carefully, slowly, and purposefully lowered the pistol. Once it had been safely secured, Snafu collapsed to his knees, head bowed. He knelt there, back rigid, but Sledge could see the way his hands trembled.

“Holy fuck.” Peck exhaled sharply and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Jesus _Christ!”_ Hamm shrieked. His rifle trembled in his grip. “I think my heart just stopped. Why’d—”

Whatever Hamm had to say died in his throat as Snafu leapt to his feet in one fluid motion. He stomped through the squelching mud and stopped inches in front of Sledge’s face. His breathing was labored, eyes moist with a sharp glint.

"You ever fuckin' _try_ that shit again," Snafu spat, jabbing a finger against Sledge’s sternum. _"There won' be anythin' left to bury you with!"_

Silence reigned again as everyone paused for Sledge’s reply. And while Sledge knew he shouldn’t, knew he was playing with fire after already pissing Snafu off—he couldn’t help it.

He smirked. "Love you, too."

The punch was expected, but _damn_ Snafu had a mean swing. Sledge bit back a moan from where he lay sprawled in the mud. Onlookers snickered as Snafu stormed off. Burgie crouched down in front of Sledge and grinned.

"You ain't bleeding," he said, squinting through the rain. "He must have been holding back."

"I can' feew my mouf," Sledge whined, gently probing his jaw. Burgie laughed.

"Didn't your folks ever teach you not to poke wild animals?" He extended a hand and pulled Sledge out of the muck. It released him with a sickening _squelch._ Sledge bemoaned the additional mud the fall had gotten in his already muddy boots.

Now that they stood face to face, the soft smile on Burgie’s face settled into a hard line. His crisp blue eyes gained a hard edge to them and Sledge involuntarily straightened his back. Now that the danger was over he was sure to get chewed out. He had broken the cardinal rule—never point your gun at something you don’t intend to shoot. If Gunny were still here, Sledge was certain he would have pummeled him deeper into the mud with his own gun.

“Never thought I’d see you do something so fucking stupid,” Burgie spat. “I expect better from you.”

Sledge’s hand twitched and he fought to keep his face impassive. Even though they were friends, Burgie had this aura about him that made Sledge want to impress him. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“How about we try something less dangerous next time, okay?” Burgie’s mouth twisted into a pained half-smile. He reached out and gripped Sledge’s shoulder in a vice. “I’d . . . hate to lose both of you.”

Sledge swallowed, throat tight. “I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen, sir.” While everyone in K Company had struggled to process Ack-Ack and Hillbilly’s death, Burgie seemed to have a rougher time of it. Sledge wondered what they had been through on Cape Gloucester together but didn’t dare ask. Sometimes the good memories were more painful than the bad.

\--

Things were quiet for second squad well into the early twilight. Sledge sat erect with the Tommy gun he and Snafu shared resting across his lap. His ears were perked for any enemy sneaking around, but with the time of day he found that unlikely. The rain had stopped much to his relief, and he strained his eyes to catch a glimpse of the sunrise. The ever present shelling and bad weather covered the sky in a depressing smokescreen, but he could see some orange peeking through.

Snafu sat up from his sleep and Sledge shifted his gaze in the opposite direction. Since their fight came to blows, Snafu stayed silent and kept his distance from the rest of the squad, or at least as much as you could in a tiny foxhole. Peck also hadn’t said a word. Sledge couldn’t tell if it was from shock at what Sledge did or fear of Snafu’s wrath.

The only one who spoke was Hamm. He rambled on about anything his mind latched onto with a faint tremor to his voice. Sledge wisely chose not to comment at the way Hamm was sitting closer than he normally would be. It hadn’t occurred to him that Hamm would be so torn up about his actions, but Sledge refused to feel guilty for it. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something terrible would have happened otherwise.

His thoughts were cut short when Snafu plopped down beside him. “Uh . . . mornin’, Snaf,” Sledge said, trying to keep his voice casual. Confrontations with Snafu were a tricky business. He’d either let his anger stew for a week or pretend nothing happened. There was never any rhyme or reason to his decision, so it was pointless to try and guess. Sledge just hoped it was the latter. 

Snafu said nothing, pointedly avoiding eye contact with Sledge as he opened his breakfast can.

So the silent treatment it was then. Sledge rolled his eyes and resumed his watch for any Japs creeping around. Oh well. It’s not like Snafu was his only friend. He refused to let this childish behavior—

"M'sorry."

Sledge snapped his attention back to Snafu so fast his helmet strap smacked him in the face. Did Snafu just, did he actually. . . Sledge pinched his arm to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. "For what?" he managed to ask.

"Hittin' ya," Snafu mumbled, still speaking to his breakfast. "Bein' a dick. Fuck, whaddya want? A list?" He tugged on his ear and Sledge bit his lip to keep from grinning. His Cajun friend never blushed, but Jay divulged this little secret one night. Both he and Burgie figured Snafu wasn't even aware of it, and they intended to keep it that way. 

Sledge sighed deeply and glanced toward the sky. “Don’t think there’s enough paper in the world for that.”

His joke was rewarded with a punch to the shoulder. “ _Ow!_ Dammit Snaf, how many times are you gonna hit me?” Sledge hissed. He was sore enough from digging holes for the mortar all day. He didn’t need any bruising to make it worse.

Snafu’s mouth curled into his usual sneer. “Don’t think I can count dat high.” He licked some food off the Ka-Bar he was using in place of a spoon. Sledge had given him an earful about how unsanitary that was within the first month of combat, but he knew better now. _Sanitary_ and _war_ just didn’t go well together. There was no point trying to stay clean when the very air you breathed was rank with decay.

“You know one day you’re gonna cut your tongue clean off,” Sledge said instead. “And I ain’t gonna feel bad for you.”

Snafu snorted. “Bullshit. Y’know yeh’d miss me tellin’ ya wha' to do.” After a final lick to his knife, Snafu pulled Sledge’s ration out of nowhere and cut the lid off in seconds. He held it out in a way that was almost . . . shy, or at least for him. A rare warmth settled in Sledge's chest as the tension from last night faded. He smiled and accepted the offering.

“Whatever you say, Snafu.”

**Author's Note:**

> The Okinawa episode tears my heart into a billion pieces, sets them on fire, then puts the charred remains in a blender. Fanfiction is my only remedy. I hope this helped some of you.


End file.
